


Green

by meaninglessblah



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, Condoms, Consent Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Manhandling, Marijuana, Minor Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne, Minor Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, Safeword Use, Safewords, Sex Pollen, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Jason and Tim agree to coach Damian through trying weed for the first time. All is going well, until they realise they’ve been dealt Ivy-brand weed and inadvertently been dosed with sex pollen.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Jason Todd/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 10
Kudos: 137
Collections: DCU Big Bang 2020





	Green

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first attempt at the 5K DCU Bang! It's been a great experience and I hope to participate again next year! 
> 
> The accompanying art was done by the lovely [MissNaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya), and can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357334).

Jason snorts and sets down three bottles of beer on the pockmarked coffee table. “I can’t believe you haven’t done this before, kid. I knew Dickie was a boy scout, but I’m pretty sure even he dabbled in the green during his Titans years.” 

From his spot sandwiched between the cushy armchair and the table, legs tucked under the wood, Damian offers him a reproachful scowl. It had taken more courage than Damian will ever admit to convince the pair of them to teach him this, and he’s still nervous about the whole concept. Their relationships have come a long way since Damian was a strong-willed preteen, and the simple fact that Jason feels like he can ease Damian out of his terse hunch with humour is a testament to that. The attempt soothes his rabbiting pulse, a bit. 

Tim lifts his head from where he’s painstakingly - but with the same surprising fluency as Jason with his cigarettes - rolling a joint, pressing down the paper with meticulous care. “To be fair,” he chimes in, coming to the teenager’s defence, “I’m pretty sure you’re still in the not-partaking camp, and you’re well past your teens now.” 

Jason takes that with an easy shrug, and Damian can’t help but feel yet again appreciative that the man can accept criticism from them so easily now. It’s been a long time since an off-tone word would see Jason tucking tail out of Gotham for a few days for ‘space’ from the family. Damian’s gratitude for the man’s determination to fix the broken bridges between them hasn’t dampened with time. 

“Well, we can’t all be a family first, Timbers," Jason concedes, lowering himself down to the hard floorboards where he can lean back against the soft upholstery of the lounge. “But I think you’re well and truly safe in being the latest bloomer, kiddo.” 

He means it as a lighthearted jab, but Damian still frowns at the reminder, shifting his considerable teenage bulk defensively. He’s come into _another_ growth spurt recently, which puts him very clearly above Tim in terms of height, and maybe even puts him on even footing with Dick if the vigilante isn’t wearing his boots. (He’s been packing wedges into his outfit since his stint as Batman; Damian’s never told a soul). “I didn’t think I was allowed.” 

“Who’s gonna allow you?” Jason points out, if only so the teen unwinds from his guilty posture. “Mommy Dearest has been studying toxins and herbs for years; I think she’ll be more pissed that you’re doing this for recreation than study.” 

“And I hate to break it to you, Damian,” Tim interjects, extending a palm for Jason’s zippo, “but Bruce was in college once. He has an MBA. Do you _honestly_ think he’s never tried weed before?” 

Jason hands it over with a crooked grin. “Yeah, Batman’s not as firmly on the straight and narrow as he would have you believe. Trust me,” he adds, tone dropping to something lower, coaxing, as Damian eyes the flickering flame warily, “you’re not gonna get in trouble for this. I promise.” 

That does soothe some of his more frayed nerves. It’s not that Damian’s hesitant about trying a joint - it’s been a lingering curiosity for a while now - but moreso that he doesn’t know where to start. It’d taken every scrap of courage for him to broach the subject with Jason, and the man’s unwavering refusal had all but shattered his resolve. Damian should have known, with the man’s past history of illicit substances, that even most recreational drugs would be off the table for him, and that he would react with appropriate disgust at Damian’s request. His expression must have been far too open, either way, because Jason had softened immediately from his hard stance to offer to talk to Tim. 

Damian can’t say he’s _surprised_ that Tim partakes, or that the man was able to acquire the leaf on such short notice. He’s been aware for a while now of the man’s precarious mental health; if this is the only way he can achieve some semblance of serenity in his life, Damian can’t find it in himself to disapprove. 

He watches Tim cup the zippo in his palms, joint poking from between his soft lips, just the barest hint of teeth visible as he lights the paper. “You’re not having any?” he confirms, blue gaze flicking up to meet Jason’s. 

The older man shakes his head. “I’m just playing chaperone. Gotta make sure the Baby Bat gets back to Daddy Bat looking passably sober.” 

Damian tosses him a scowl fit for the cowl, and Jason laughs. 

Tim scoffs. “You’re going to need at least three cans of axe to get him past Bruce’s nose.” 

“Fear not,” Jason croons when Damian blanches, snagging a bottle by the neck and tipping it back. “I’ve got Nightwing-strength deodorant in the wings.” 

Tim’s nose wrinkles as he sucks a few short breaths down the glowing joint. Damian watches the embers flare and wane as he pulls back to exhale. “Thank _Christ._ I don’t know how he ever survived puberty.” 

“Dick’s lucky he’s pretty,” Jason intones, and offers Tim a beer, swinging to Damian when Tim shakes his head. 

“I’m eighteen,” Damian reminds him, and Jason shrugs. Damian’s gaze flickers down to the bottle warily. 

Jason withdraws it when his silence lingers. “You don’t have to, Dames. Just say so and I’ll stop asking. I’m just trying to make sure you’re comfortable.” 

“Don’t drink and imbibe,” Tim suggests dutifully, and draws in another lungful. His eyes are starting to go soft around the edges, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders the barest amount. It’s not visible to the average eye, but for a family of hypervigilant heroes, it’s as good an indicator as any. 

“Just because _you_ can’t hold your liquor,” Jason mumbles over the rim, lips curled in a teasing grin, and Damian does smirk at that. 

Tim doesn’t, mouth twisting into what almost would constitute a pout. “I _can_ hold my liquor-” 

“Three flutes of champagne say otherwise,” Jason overrides him with raised, pointed brows, and a blush rises on Tim’s cheeks, right beneath his darkening glare. Damian’s grin spreads another millimetre. 

“Champagne is not liquor,” Tim argues, and rushes onwards before Jason can drill that in. “ _You_ haven’t tried Clark’s Kryptonian moonshine.” 

Jason considers that as he drinks, hooking his arms over the width of the couch. “True that. When’d you get your hands on moonshine, O Pure Leader?” 

Tim snorts and rolls the joint between his finger and thumb, looking far from the impeccable idol of the Titans’ leader that Damian has come to admire. He likes this Tim, likes the familiar intimacy the lack of the mask allows. “Kon and I snuck some jugs into the barn one summer. If you think _I_ can’t hold my liquor, I’d hate to see Lex after a few brews.” 

Jason barks a laugh, and Tim shifts an elbow onto the coffee table, leaning forward to offer the blunt to Damian. He takes it gingerly, wrinkling his nose at the coil of smoke that wafts towards him. 

“Yeah, don’t sniff it,” Tim agrees, and watches patiently until Damian lifts it to rest on the dip of his lower lip before he instructs, “Shallow breath, hold it down. Then exhale.” 

“Shallow?” Damian confirms with a frown, but purses his lips nonetheless. Wonders idly if he should have started with a pack of Jason’s cigarettes first, not that the vigilante is prone to sharing. 

Tim nods, but it’s Jason who says, “Unless you want to cough it straight back up. Nice and slow, Dames. We’ve got all night.” 

Damian hums at that, and shuffles into a more cross-legged sit, if only to give himself more time to work himself up to it. He’s never been a stranger to leaping into new experiences, but he’s not exactly reckless either. And there’s an academic difference between running headfirst into fear gas, and voluntarily imbibing a mind-altering recreational drug. 

It doesn’t… He doesn’t feel any different, after the first draw. Damian’s not sure if he expected an immediate, noticeable difference, but he can’t help but feel a little wrongfooted when it doesn’t present itself. 

He takes another drag, slower and more considerate this time, drawing the smoke deeper into his lungs until they feel thin and full. He holds it for a few slow beats of his heart, and then exhales again. 

“How’s it feel?” Jason asks around another sip of beer. He’s almost finished his first bottle, and is eyeing the untouched open bottle between them. 

Damian frowns and hands the toke back to Tim so he can run an internal stocktake. He feels nothing other than a slightly elevated temperature, which he’s willing to chalk up to his inexperience. “No different.” 

“Give it time,” Tim suggests. 

Jason shifts his weight with an unperturbed shrug and eyes Tim. “So, you and Superboy. Are you, uh…?” 

Tim makes a complicated expression that’s marred around the joint between his lips. He hands it back to Damian and settles on his palms before he answers, “No, haven’t been together for a while.” 

“Oh,” Jason says, with vague interest. “I thought, when you went back to San Fran-?” 

Tim’s already shaking his head, so Damian focuses on taking another measured drag. He’s not sure if it’s going to take a certain quantity to get him high, or if it’s just a matter of time. Better to eliminate the possibility of failure. 

“We were on a break. Now we’re just…” Tim wheels one hand through the air, and lets it drop back to the timber. Jason grunts and takes another, more stalling swig. “Not together, either way. Not for almost a year now.” 

Jason winces. “Relationships,” he says, consolatory. 

“Mmn,” Tim agrees, and then casts his gaze over towards Jason’s kitchen. “Have you got snacks planned? Because I usually order in takeout.” 

Jason sets his empty bottle back on the table and counts off on his fingers. “Snacks, three takeout menus, and a healthy supply of good old sobering water for both of you.” 

“Huh. I usually just down an energy drink and a pint of coffee and start acid hacking until I pass out.” 

Jason rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ. Even when you’re relaxing you don’t relax.” 

Tim, for whatever reason, finds this incredibly hilarious. Damian would mention something about how slap-happy the pot seems to be making him, but he’s a little bit distracted by a new and somewhat sudden… intrusion. 

He sets the toke down in the ashtray Jason has already prepared, careful not to snuff the end on the ceramic dish. Definitely can’t misconstrue the signals his body is sending him when the front of his jeans pulls tight against his crotch as he straightens back into a sit. 

“Uh,” Damian says, and shifts his weight. The friction is the opposite of helpful. “Are, uh, does marijuana usually, er, _stimulate_ …” 

Jason snorts and looks beyond gleeful. “Do you have a boner for Mary Jane, Dames?” 

Damian frowns at him, feeling heat creep up his neck and lick down his midsection. He pulls at his collar uncomfortably, unbearably warm in the stagnant apartment air. 

Tim has a lazy grin fixed on him, watching as Damian squirms. “It’s okay, Damian. We’re not going to judge.” 

“It’s not like that,” Damian insists, unease worming into his gut, and not just from the smirks his brothers are fixing on him. His breaths are curtailing into light panting, goosebumps rising on his overstimulated flesh. 

Damian lifts two fingers and presses them to his pulse, letting his gaze drop unfocused to the coffee table as he counts out the beats. Even without the benefit of an accurate clock, he can tell it's faster than it should be. 

“I thought weed was supposed to _relax_ me,” Damian snaps, blinking back a slow trail of perspiration. 

“It is,” Jason drawls. 

“It might hit you faster, since this is your first time,” Tim theorises aloud. “Or it might take longer to set in. Can’t say.” 

“Yes, well, I don’t think my heart rate should be this elevated,” Damian growls, and reaches down to grab Jason’s wrist and shove it against the tendons of his neck. “ _Feel_ that.” 

Jason shifts his grip when Damian lets go, palm flattening against his throat in a clinical hold, and the contact hums through Damian’s gut like a bow on a violin string. His sharp inhalation draws a flick of Jason’s questioning gaze, and Damian swallows harshly to offset the reaction. 

“You’re high,” Jason confirms, and throws a chastising look at Tim when the other giggles at the pun. “Not _that_ kind of high. He’s burning up.” 

His palm shifts up under Damian’s jawline, huge and smothering as it tests his temperature. Damian can _feel_ his pulse thundering back against that touch, can’t help but squirm beneath the steady pressure of Jason’s hand as he ripples through a shiver. 

Jason _does_ notice that reaction, a touch of curiosity entering his sharp gaze. “What was _that_ look, Baby Brat?” 

Damian swallows, his mouth feeling both too wet and too dry. “Am I having an allergic reaction?” 

Jason frowns, fingers skirting down his midsection to yank up his shirt above his navel, checking for a breakout. The cold air and the ferocity of that simple movement make Damian’s core coil with need. 

Which is when Jason’s gaze drops down to Damian’s rapidly filling cock where it tents the front of his jeans. He blushes where he’s leaned over Damian, the tips of his ears flushing pink. 

“Uh, Timbers,” he calls, and gets an acknowledging grunt in response, “any chance that weed was… contaminated?” 

Tim frowns, struggling upright where he’s lulled over the couch cushions. “What do you mean?” 

Jason meets Damian’s gaze, studying his pupils. Damian doesn’t have any doubt that they’re blown wide; he feels feverish. A touch of wild panic graces Jason’s eyes, and dissipates just as quickly. “I think you got a bad batch.” 

Tim _does_ rouse at that, digging into the pocket of his jeans for the baggie he’s stashed, before lifting it to the light to squint at. Jason rolls his eyes and snatches it from Tim’s grip, holding it high to inspect himself. 

“Yeah,” he says heavily after a long minute of silent, suspicious contemplation. “I’m calling it: you two are dosed.” 

“What?” Damian yelps. 

“What,” Tim repeats, frowning as he leans over to inspect the leaves pressed to the plastic beneath Jason’s thumb. The way he so casually plasters himself along Jason’s bulk makes Damian envious. 

“Look familiar?” Damian shifts to look too, analysing the yellow-green buds Jason is anxiously rolling between his nails. Horror saturates through his chest, dripping down to churn his tumultuous stomach. 

“Is that Ivy’s pollen?” he demands, sounding far too high-pitched even in his own ears. Jason sighs and flicks the baggie onto the coffee table between them, Tim’s gaze following as it travels over the wood. 

“Sure looks like it,” Tim mutters, unfocused, as Jason grunts unhappily and takes down another few mouthfuls of beer. 

“Alright,” he says finally, once Damian’s pulse has finished climbing to the thundering heights of Nanda Parbat. He seems resignedly calm about the fact that they're both dosed up on inhibition-limiting, aphrodisiac pollen. “I’m gonna need you both to safeword in.” 

“Endor,” Tim says immediately, in the tone of someone passing on their hand in poker. 

Damian feels hot all over, his veins buzzing like they’re trying to rattle up through his skin. He can feel his pulse between his ears, heavy and rabbiting where it hangs between his legs. His palms feel slick with sweat, his skin prickling with sensation as he draws in a ragged breath. 

They’ve all been dosed before. They’ve got a running tally on a board in the Cave proper for it. They’re all familiar with how debilitating and maliciously arousing Ivy’s pollen can be. Damian’s sweated through enough feverish episodes hunched over in his ensuite bathroom to know why his brothers usually seek out each others’ company to fill their needs. 

The safewords came in due course; they’re practical sign-offs for the non-dosed party, to waive any guilt they might harbour about handling a compromised vigilante needing to get his rocks off. Damian’s familiar with them, but hasn’t relied on them nearly as much as his brothers have. 

As nervous as he is, Damian knows he doesn’t want to suffer through the next few hours alone. Especially with an unfamiliar drug in his system; he has no idea what sort of altering effects marijuana might have on Ivy’s pollen. From an objective perspective, it would be sensible for him to stay where he can be supervised by Tim and a (mostly) sober Jason. 

And from a subjective perspective… 

“Machiavelli,” Damian says, and Jason heaves a sigh of relief, leaning forward to snap the cap off another fresh bottle. 

“Alright then,” Jason concedes with the levity of a man headed to the gallows. “First round’s on yourselves; the sooner you kickstart it, the sooner we can work it out of your system. I’ll take over once you're under.” 

“What,” Tim says, lips curling into a teasing grin even as his hand slides down the front of his loose jeans. Damian studiously looks away, feeling the heat in his cheeks smolder at the casual display of intimacy. “No courtesy handjob for our troubles?” 

Jason barks a sharp, grating laugh that makes Damian shrivel, even though Tim doesn’t hesitate in the slow roll of his palm. Even staring intently at the dormant television screen across from them, Damian can make out the distracting flex of his arm in his peripheral. 

“I know full well you can spank your monkey perfectly fine on your own, Timbers. You know, those locks are on our bedroom doors for a _reason_.” 

“Yeah,” Tim agrees easily. “But the locks don’t stop the cameras. And what’s the difference between you walking in on me or someone reviewing the Manor tapes?” 

Jason shakes his head in dawning awe as Tim’s grin grows. “I knew about the voyeurism, but you’re a kinky little exhibitionist, too, aren’t you?” 

“Bruce should know better than to rig his teenage sons’ rooms with cameras if he didn’t want to catch us jacking off. You’d think he’d have learned after five boys.” 

Damian can’t stifle the groan that rings up his throat at the thought of his father being privy to those first few experimental times, when Damian had sheltered beneath a heavy blanket with a weathered eye on the closed door and an ear crooked for approaching footsteps. Back before he’d painstakingly planned out detours through safehouses whose security measures had been derigged hours before. 

Tim gives him a little smirk, and Damian tries to work out whether he likes the effect drugs are having on the man’s loosened tongue. His cock certainly doesn’t mind the way it dips out to wet Tim’s lips before he speaks. “Don’t overthink it, baby bat. Bruce isn’t _that_ attentive, no matter the front the Batman puts up.” 

Damian throws him a glare, and has to immediately shift his gaze to the wall behind Tim’s left ear when it gives him a full view of the way Tim’s hand rolls. “And am I to trust that _you_ haven’t reviewed those tapes, _Drake?_ ” 

Jason whistles low and smug, curling a grin around the rim of his bottle. “Haven’t heard _that_ nickname in a while. You must be really hot under that collar, huh, baby brat?” 

“I just don’t understand how you can all be so casual about,” he glances down at the slow rise and fall of Tim’s hand, timed to each of his soft breaths, and fixes his glare on Jason instead, “about something so intimate.” 

“We’ve been dosed up too many times to care anymore,” Tim allows with a one-shouldered shrug. “Can’t afford to be a prude when aphrodisiacs are a genuine occupational hazard.” 

Jason concurs. “What the shrimp said. Nothing intimate about it. This is strictly professional. Best to bite the bullet and get it over with, Dames. I can’t help you until you kick the party off, so to speak.” 

Just the thought of touching himself, so blatantly, in front of two of his brothers, his two colleagues in the field, is enough to make heat rise with bruising force into Damian’s cheeks. A touch of concern flits across Jason’s brow. 

“Unless you don’t want to,” he amends hesitantly, and lowers his bottle an inch to fix Damian with a firm look. “I know you safeworded in, but if you don’t want us to help-” 

“No,” Damian cuts him off, and drags his palm down the seam of his zipper. The cursed relief is enough to drag a hiss from between his teeth, and he halts the action before it can undo him any more. “I do, I just…” 

“If you want to handle this on your own,” Jason presses, “you can take the bathroom down the hall. We’ll give you your privacy, if that’s what you’d rather.” 

“ _No_ ,” Damian says again, skin crawling at the notion of spending another bout sweating through Ivy’s pollen alone, aching for the touch of another, consumed with the need to be held, and kissed, and consumed- 

Tim starts laughing. High and a little delirious, choking on his own quick pants when he finally caves to Jason’s inquisitive eyebrow. “Oh, come on,” he says in the face of their dual confusion, his voice the slightest bit husky, “it’s obvious as anything, Jay.” 

Jason glances at Damian, sweeps him with a long hard look, and Damian can’t help but feel its caress down to his marrow. He turns back to Tim as Damian’s skin starts to break out in rippling goosebumps. “Not all of us are idiot savants, Timbo.” 

Tim snorts and reaches forward to snag the toke, taking another short, sharp drag before Jason plucks it from his fingers and snuffs it. He exhales slowly, watches Damian through the haze of smoke and his own fluttering lashes, and then says, soft enough that Damian nearly misses it, “You should kiss him, Jay.” 

Damian gives a choked little yelp, even as Jason scoffs. 

“How _high_ are you, Timbers? Kid just wants some help jacking off. We already laid ground rules on socially acceptable intimacy while under the influence years back - or did you miss that briefing? I’m not kissing him unless he asks me to.” 

Tim rolls his eyes, slouching back against the lounge beside the larger man like even that is taking too much concentration right now. He looks loose and long-limbed, so much different from his usual terse rigidity. It doesn’t even take Damian a hot minute to notice the difference like it’s night and day, gaze tracing the slope of the man’s toned abdomen where his shirt has ridden up with his efforts. His hand has stopped moving, poised around the head of his cock, buried in his jeans, and Damian swallows at the thought of what that looks like, how it would feel in his own palm. “He’s never going to ask, Jay. Look at him. He had to ask _us_ to teach him how to do weed - the two most straight and narrow dorks he knows. And he’s _Robin._ He could bust any frat party and get his prime pick of tokes.” 

“What’s your point, birdbrain?” 

“He _wanted_ to light up with _us_ , didn’t you, Dames?” Tim says with a grin befitting a shrike. He feels skewered between their twin gazes, mouth dry. His cock _aches_ between his legs, a throb of pressure and heat, demanding attention. “You said yourself, you wanted to see us outside work.” 

“I see you outside of work,” Damian retorts with, but it sounds breathless. Tim withdraws his hand, shifting onto his palms and knees, to Damian’s dawning horror. 

Jason gives a grumble of irritation when Tim climbs over his lap, squeezing down on his thighs a second longer than is strictly warranted, and Damian feels his breath stall when Tim’s gaze turns back to his. His pupils are wide, drowning the gleaming shade of blue he’s come to memorise. 

Tim looks _ravenous,_ unwavering as he hunts Damian down across the living room. Before Damian can even think to bark a protest - and it’s got to be a side-effect of the weed that he’s so disoriented he can’t even coordinate his own limbs to fend off an attack - Tim’s climbing into his lap, crooking his thighs around Damian’s hips like he was made to fit there. 

It makes Damian hyperaware of just how warm he is, of how sharp and breathy his exhalations are now. How hard he shudders when Tim rolls his hips forward and smothers his own weight and heat against Damian’s crotch. 

“Drake-” 

“Damian,” Tim says, half-mocking the old nickname. He’s so close, his lips near enough to brush Damian’s own. It’s maddeningly distracting, especially when Tim’s tongue slips out to worry at his lower lip. 

“What are you doing,” he breathes, and shakes himself loose of the trance Tim’s dragging him into. 

“Proving a point,” Tim purrs back, shuffling to get comfortable in Damian’s lap, like he plans on staying there a _while,_ and the friction is debilitating. Damian hears the softest, barest slip of a groan part from his open mouth, and is simultaneously mortified and thrilled by the sound. 

Tim’s eyes light, lips curling in a broad smirk as he wraps his arms around Damian’s shoulders and cocks his head, drinking down Damian’s unblinking expression. He has no clue what Tim sees in his eyes, isn’t even sure Tim sees anything other than what he wants to see, when he’s as disjointed as he is right now. 

“Are you going to play with him all night, or are you going to give him what he needs, birdbrain?” Jason drawls, but his tone betrays the air of disinterest he’s trying for. When Damian’s gaze flicks over to him, still sprawled back against the seats and mouthing at a bottle in a way that shouldn’t seem as obscene as it does, Jason’s gaze burns. 

“Are we in a rush?” Tim asks, sliding a hand down between them to squeeze his own length. Damian’s breath stalls at the drag of the man’s knuckles up his abdomen, the secondhand friction that touch grants him. He wants that hand on him, wants to knock that hand away and bring Tim off himself. 

He’s not convinced it’s entirely the aphrodisiac that’s responsible for his reckless disposition; pollen has been known to enhance magnetism and libido, it’s true, but it’s just that - an enhancement agent. It’s only able to enhance what’s already there, and the realisation that his attraction is as good as laid bare is the final nail in Damian’s figurative coffin. 

His mouth slams into Tim’s when he surges up, his hands following a half-second later to grip the man’s sides, squeeze tight over his ribs. It impresses upon Damian just how much _smaller_ Tim is now, how much more proportionate to his own height, and the realisation sends a jolt of want blazing through the core of him. 

Tim must have his faculties about him more than Damian does, because he’s ready to receive the aggression when their lips crash together, tilting his head to force Damian into a retreat, press him back against the upholstery with the force of his demand. He swallows down Damian’s air, makes his head spin like a top as he bites down every morsel of desire Tim gives him. 

It takes Damian a moment to notice that it’s not just their mouths and tongues that are moving, and a moment longer to blush at the realisation that he’s grinding Tim down against his own crotch, utilising the leverage he has on the man’s sides to drag him deeper into Damian’s lap. 

Tim doesn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed by his desperation, rolling his hips down with every shift to meet him in some mimicry of actual coitus. The ease with which Tim moves drives Damian mad with want. 

He slides his palm past the open button of Tim’s jeans, blunt nails catching in the material of his briefs as he slips beneath them, wrapping fingers tentatively around the man’s length. Tim pulls back enough to stutter a breath, lashes fluttering at the drag of callouses over his cock as his own hand falls away. The sight is debilitating on the man, freckled across those warm cheeks as he glances up at Damian, gaze burning. 

It’s enough to prompt Damian to sure his grip, to take Tim in hand and stroke him roughly. The long, low moan it yanks out of the man’s throat is all the encouragement Damian needs to shift his grip, slick it with the precum beading on the head and begin to coax Tim high onto his knees. 

Tim gives him a whine, teeth worrying at his lower lip as his nails go to Damian’s shoulders, biting through his t-shirt as he rocks up into the teen’s palm, setting a rough and frantic pace. There’s no real finesse to either of their actions, but Damian can tell that neither of them are going to last long anyway, with the drug igniting hot and heady in their veins. He feels like he’s on fire, the little pants and whimpers lifting off Tim’s lips only serving to engulf him. 

“Fuck, baby bat,” Jason says, snapping Damian back to some semblance of clarity. He’s suddenly aware that he’s panting, hips shifting in an effort to meet Tim, match his own little thrusts. For a moment he expects chastisement, expects teasing, but when he looks over to the older man, there’s a flat want in his gaze, simmering over the mouth of his beer bottle. “You gonna get him off?” 

Tim’s fingers dig, nails cutting in a mockery of desperation as Damian grunts and nods, words failing. He doesn’t hesitate any longer to pop the button on his own pants, shoving a hand in and letting his head tilt back at the relief. 

It feels amazing, every nerve igniting beneath the sweep of his fist, and each sensation melds with Tim’s gasps, ricocheting him swiftly up the totem of his release. He loses himself in the overstimulation for a second, every thought consumed by the pressure, by the friction, hand stilling on Tim in momentary forgetfulness. 

Tim’s lips press at his throat, at his jaw, coaxing his head up and down until Tim can seize Damian’s lower lip between his teeth and _bite._ It hurts, a bright flash of pain that curls into the mess of pleasure in his gut and forces Damian’s hand back into a rhythm, jerking Tim off with a harsh vengeance. 

He can tell Tim’s close, is wound to breaking point, and Damian doesn’t think he can last much longer himself. 

“Clothes,” Tim gasps, with considerable effort, scraping his teeth off Damian’s lips to turn in Jason’s general direction. He’s flushed and sauna hot beneath Damian’s palms, trembling in his lap. “Pants, I’m gonna- Do you have-?” 

“Got spares,” Jason confirms quickly, a touch of exasperation to his tone. “ _Come,_ Tim.” 

He does, rattling up into his orgasm like he’s drowning in it. His shout breaks in his throat, cresting over his lips as he throws his head back and grinds down into Damian’s grip, fingers working a bruise into his shoulders. 

It catapults Damian into his own crescendo, shoving him over the precipice with a grunt. He’s vaguely aware of his own come painting his stomach, but his gaze is on Tim as he shivers through the aftershock, tracking the stripes of white layered up to his sternum like a geyser. Damian has the obtuse urge to lick it off him, to _taste_ Tim, and it makes his vision bleed white when he squeezes himself in reprimand, head arching back into the cushions at the overstimulation. 

They stay there, panting their way down to something resembling control, as Tim hovers on his knees above Damian’s lap and the spend grows tacky on Damian’s palm. 

“Fuck,” Tim whispers, forehead pressed to Damian’s collarbones. He’s still shivering, the sensation rippling down the muscles of his back. “You don’t know how badly I needed that.” 

“I think,” Damian gasps, and then decides that he doesn’t. He arches up to lick into Tim’s mouth, a poor substitute for the flavour he really wants, and groans when the man opens for him without hesitation. 

There’s a fog hanging over them, between them, making Damian’s lungs tight and his cock stir. His veins are tempered but simmering, urging him towards the furnace of his need as he pours himself between Tim’s lips. He shifts his palms to Tim’s hips, thumbs tracking over the arches of his pelvis as Tim shoves back against them. When he breaks off Tim’s lips to glance down, the man’s already half-hard, and shuffling further into Damian’s lap in what can only be an invitation for more intimate contact.

He’s so distracted by the sight that it takes him until Tim’s nearly shimmied his jeans down to his knees to choke, “I haven’t-” 

Tim stills, blinking at him once as Damian feels heat burn a blaze across his features. 

“I shouldn’t,” he settles on, meek and hesitant. Tim’s eyes light with empathy. 

“You and Jon?” he clarifies, and Damian forces himself to nod. Those teeth gleam in a wicked grin. “Metastrength, right?” 

Damian swallows and attempts another nod. They’ve been in what Damian counts as a relationship for nearly a year now, and which has involved a certain exchange of bases, as he supposes it can be put. He’s confident Jon won’t mind this carnal detour. They’d discussed the occupational hazards of pollen and such; this was a clearly defined area of exception that they both held no qualms about. 

So as comfortable as Damian is with seeing the drug out of his system, he’s less comfortable about going _that_ far with Tim. Especially given that he and Jon have yet to work out the logistics of human-meta coitus that leave Damian’s hips intact. Call him old-fashioned, but the thought of sharing that first experience with someone other than Jon makes Damian squeamish in all the ways that overwhelm him with the pollen already saturating his pores. 

His grip tightens on Tim’s hips, his throat dry at the prospect of rejection. He’s not sure he can really stomach the thought of being forced to withstand the remainder of this curse alone, when they’re so close now. Not sure he can bring himself to give this up, can remain impartial when Tim’s poised so tantalisingly over him, and it scares Damian more than anything else - the idea that he’s not in control. 

“Hey,” Tim soothes, tone dropping in pitch as he wraps his palm over Damian’s hand and squeezes reassuringly. “You’re fine, we’re fine. That’s why we have a chaperone.” 

Damian starts, gaze swinging to the forgotten third man in their party, to find Jason shifting closer across the distance. Tim leans towards him when he gets near enough, pulling the taller man in for a brief but passionate kiss before he whispers over his lips. 

“Damian doesn’t want to fuck me. Don’t suppose you’re interested?” 

Jason grins, teeth blazing white before they close on Tim’s lower lip and tug. His hands go to Tim’s hips, dragging him out of Damian’s lap and into his own as the smaller man groans at the manhandling. “Same as last time, Timmy?” 

“God, _please,_ ” Tim whines, wrapping his calves and thighs around Jason’s bulk as he settles back on the upholstery. Damian watches curiously as Jason yanks his shirt over his head, Tim’s hands falling to his jeans to kick them off once his arms are free. 

Then his mouth goes to Jason’s abdomen, kissing up the ridges of his muscles as Jason wrestles his own clothing free, Tim’s lips tracing the scars that cross over his sternum and then his throat until he can claim the man’s mouth. Jason’s palm flattens against Tim’s spine, his other hand pushing into the small of his back until the smaller is flush to his stomach, his cock crushed between them. 

Damian has the humility to blush when Jason’s hand drops to squeeze the man’s cheeks unabashedly, earning a groan from Tim as he rocks his hips against Jason’s. 

“You got a condom?” Jason murmurs beneath Tim’s jaw, and runs his teeth down the line of the man’s thundering pulse. The air whispers out of Tim’s lungs; Damian can see the way his spine bows as his fingers skirt down his bare thigh, and then pause. 

Then he casts around, gaze lingering on Damian before it drops to the jeans between them. He opens his mouth to say something, but his coherency is swallowed up in a moan when Jason bites into the join of his neck and shoulder. 

“Dames,” Jason says instead, looking very smug as he lifts his head, “hand us a condom? Check his pockets. And there’s some lube in the drawer of the coffee table.” 

He feels like he’s moving through a fog, but Damian deftly tucks himself back into his pants, stalling out when his shirt sticks to the mess painting his stomach. Some part of his functional brain must still be receiving, because he divests himself of the material before he slides to his knees to grab the discarded jeans. He fishes around in the pocket until he locates a slim leather wallet, opening it and snagging the foil packet within. When Damian glances up, his jaw drops. 

Jason’s still mouthing at Tim’s neck, his gaze burning into Tim’s own with a sort of possessiveness that yanks _hard_ behind Damian’s navel. He’s got the heel of one huge palm pressed into the dip of the smaller man’s back, fingers holding him open so he can trace a third around Tim’s rim. The dryness must be uncomfortable, but Damian can tell that Tim’s rocking back into the touch, a desperate little whine ringing up his throat when Jason tugs gently on the pink flesh. 

“Fuck, Jay, I’m gonna-” A harsh swallow, and a higher-pitched whine. Then, more forcefully, commanding even in its bewilderment, “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” 

“Go right ahead, Timmy,” Jason replies, calmer than Damian’s ever seen, and from the way Tim’s hips jerk, he’s seriously considering it. Damian wonders idly how slick Jason’s stomach is already, how good the friction feels on Tim’s cock, whether it compares to the heat of being inside- 

“ _Damian,_ ” comes the impatient reminder, wrapped around another groan, and Damian tosses the condom with only the barest thought to accuracy, already turning to rifle through the drawers in search of lube. 

“What are we gonna do for you, baby brat?” Jason coos when Damian returns, black rubber already rolled down the length poised between Tim’s thighs. He doesn’t show any inclination of moving yet, and it makes Damian’s mouth whet at the sight. 

He knows he’s losing his grip on conscious thought when Jason snags his wrist, Damian’s fingers clenching hard on the small bottle of lube as he tries to focus on whatever’s being said to him. This close, he can smell Tim, feel how hot he is, see how flushed his gorgeous skin is. He wants to touch him, wants to _taste_ the salt of him, and he feels like his mouth is stuffed with cotton, for all the good it’s doing him. 

“Still with us, Dames?” Jason asks, gaze flickering pointedly between each of Damian’s pupils. He wonders how wide they are, whether there’s even any green left to see. That hand squeezes once, gently, around his wrist, and Damian’s jaw falls open. It seals the deal for Jason, who releases him. “You need to get off.” 

“But I-” Tim starts, as close to a petulant whine as Damian’s ever heard him. 

“I’ve got two hands,” Jason interrupts him, and then turns his attention back to Damian. “Lose the pants, Boy Wonder, and I’ll jack you.” 

“Fuck,” Damian stutters, because it feels like his blood has evaporated. There’s a constant rushing in his ears, a tide of need drowning his skull as he drops trembling fingers to his pants and works them off. 

“Alright,” Jason says with far more sobriety, and surveys the pair of them like he’s coming up with a tactical solution. Then he nudges Tim’s thighs open wider, spreading him across his lap. “How much prep do you want?” 

“Fuck prep,” Tim answers diplomatically, and wraps a hand around Jason’s stiff cock. 

Jason bats his hand away deftly, nonplussed. “You need prep. You want two or three fingers?” When Tim flounders at the question, like the man’s speaking a whole other language, Jason amends to, “How rough?” 

“Two,” Tim answers, looking a little dazed. Damian thinks, if he’s as overheated as Damian feels, they’re not going to have much coherency between them soon. 

“Two,” Jason agrees with a decisive nod, and retrieves the bottle from Damian’s fingers. His nails feel like coals raking over Damian’s palm, making the air seize in his lungs and blood rush downwards. He glances up, assessing that as Damian sways, and squeezes some of the liquid onto the fingers of his right hand. “I’m gonna work him open on my fingers, and I want you to sit next to me so I can get you off. Sound okay, Damian?” 

It sounds like a benediction in Damian’s ears, his knees buckling as he slides down onto the couch beside the older man. Jason assesses that reaction too, and deciding he can wait a moment longer, wraps his bare palm around Tim’s cock. 

Tim keens a harsh sound between clenched teeth, but then it’s faltering as Jason slides a finger into him. His thighs tremble, lashes closing as he sinks into the sensation, head bowing as if in prayer. 

It makes Damian ache, but he doesn’t have time to stew in isolation before Jason hands him the bottle and orders, “Okay, Damian, I want you to get yourself ready. Nice and slick for me, but don’t come yet. Think you can manage that?” 

Damian nods, perhaps a tad too eagerly, and upends the bottle straight onto the mast of his cock. He bows forward almost immediately, the sensation divine on his neglected member, and wraps a tight hand around it in consolation as he gasps a curse. 

“Easy, Dames,” Jason soothes, tone low and gravelly in a way that jerks Damian’s head up. When he does glance towards them, Jason is working that finger deep between Tim’s cheeks, a second nudging at his entrance as Tim gasps and grinds down to meet it. 

The whine that passes his lips does so without his permission, but Damian can’t find the humility to care as he loosens his grip and pulls it down the length of his cock in a smooth glide. It makes every nerve flare, awakening under his touch as he pants and adjusts his position back on the couch so that he can watch Tim take another one of Jason’s thicker digits into him. 

It’s only belatedly that he remembers Jason’s instructions, a reticent whimper crawling up his throat to accompany the way Damian squeezes down on the base of his cock. It gives him some relief, chases back the fog of desire for a spare few seconds so that he can swallow, and think, and _wait._

He doesn’t have to wait long, it turns out, because then there are fingers in his hair, nails sliding over his scalp to pull him into Jason’s embrace, join their mouths with distinct purpose. Damian moans into the heat, brow pinching when Jason pushes a tongue past his open lips to explore deeper. 

“Jay,” Tim breathes, and must bite down on something, because Jason grunts into Damian’s slack mouth. “I want to kiss him.” 

Heat flares in Damian’s gut, rippling up the core of him as he breaks off of Jason with a gasp. It feels hollow, without another body pressed against him, inside him, so he turns to meet Tim’s lips voraciously. 

Jason’s hand is still cupping his neck, still guiding him into Tim’s palms when they reach up to trace his jawline, so it makes Damian jolt when he touches Damian’s leaking cock. It doesn’t take him long to adjust though, leaning into Jason’s grip with fervor as Tim whines between his lips and pulls back to bite every spare inch of his throat. 

He can hear how slick Jason’s palm is between his legs, twisting with each upstroke to ratchet Damian’s pulse ever higher in his ears. 

Tim’s teeth sharpen, a whimper building behind them before he gasps and announces, “I’m-” 

Then he’s coming, shouting through it, so Damian lifts a hand to his jaw, tilting him up to meet his lips again so he can swallow the sound down. Jason’s pace becomes frantic on him, the movements more directed now that he’s not focusing on both of them at once. 

Which only serves to remind Damian that he’s currently massaging the shouting man’s prostate, so he pulls back to watch the pleasure spill over Tim’s features. Inevitably though, his eyes are drawn down to the way Jason’s buried inside him, unmoving but for the tendons in his wrist jumping as he massages deep into Tim, watching the way the man shakes and screams above him. 

Then his blue eyes shift to spot Damian, his grip tightening to blinding for a brief moment before he orders, “Come, Damian.” 

It yanks the air from him, shoving his gut up somewhere behind his lungs as reality is swamped in a haze of white. Damian can’t tell if he’s screaming, can’t hear whatever sound he’s making past the tight vice of his throat and the landslide ripping through the core of him to spill out onto Jason’s hand. 

He fumbles for balance, fingers digging into the taller man’s shoulder when he finds it, and slumps back into the couch when Jason’s grip finally loosens, his pace finally slowed. 

It takes a few minutes for reality to reassert itself, but even Damian can tell - as lightheaded as he is - that he’s more cognizant. The haze chased back for the brief few moments of post-coital glow. 

Jason apparently realises this too, because he wastes no time in pushing Tim back enough to demand, “You good? Do either of you need to safeword out?” 

“No,” Tim gulps, looking debauched, “I’m good, thanks, I’m-” He substitutes with a raised thumb, pausing to drop his forehead against Jason’s shoulder and breathe. 

Jason taps Damian’s thigh, holding his gaze when he blinks back at him. “How about you? Handling this okay?” 

Damian licks his lips, forces his dry mouth to say, “Feels good.” 

“Not what I asked,” Jason returns, but it’s gentle. “This is as coherent as you get all night, Dames. I need to know if you’re okay to continue.” 

“I’m good,” he confirms, and closes his eyes to swim in the sensations for a bit longer when Jason gives him an acquiescent nod. 

Jason shifts slightly, hand falling to his own member when Damian pries his eyes open the barest amount to watch. “Alright, Timmy, turn around. When you can manage it, I want you on your feet, Damian.” 

That gets him to open his eyes a little wider, sitting up to attention as Tim straightens and shifts in Jason’s lap. The larger man guides him with two firm hands around his thighs, situating him with Tim’s back to his broader chest. 

“Slow and steady, Timbers,” he says, but it’s a little breathless as he lines his cock up with one hand. Tim reaches a hand back to cup Jason’s neck as he guides himself down, brows pinching and lips forming around the silent ‘O’. 

It’s a truly mesmerising sight, Damian’s gaze falling to the twitch of muscles in Tim’s abdomen as Jason sheathes himself. It takes him a moment longer to discern how Jason’s grip has shifted, how he’s slowing the man’s descent when all Tim seems to want to do is slide home as fast as possible. 

“Christ, you’d think we’d have built a tolerance to this shit by now,” Jason grunts when Tim’s ass is flush to his hips. He massages his thumbs into Tim’s pelvis, pressing a kiss to the smaller’s neck when Tim whines and rocks down onto him. Jason’s grip sures, halting him as he bares teeth. “ _Eager._ ” 

“Fuck me,” Tim orders, lids rolling back like he can’t decide if he wants them open or not. There’s a dazed look to his features, a blissfulness that tells Damian he’s not really here with them. “Want it rough, Jay, you gotta-” 

The teeth Jason sears into the side of his throat seem to yank the words from him, because he whines when Jason growls, “Even dosed, you’re a bossy son of a bitch.” 

Tim’s hand slides up the back of Jason’s neck, fisting in his hair hard enough to have Jason hiss, teeth baring. Though his expression is not entirely pained. “Fuck,” Tim commands, with a pointed tug, “me.” 

“Be patient,” Jason snarls in response, those heated eyes flicking over to Damian. “What happened to getting on your feet, baby bat?” 

Damian’s scrambling up before he can consciously process the decision, knees buckling at just the thought of Jason’s hand on him again. He can feel that heat rising, saturating his pores and spreading out like a mist over his mind. Scattering all rational thought in its path. 

“You’re in for a treat,” Jason informs him, and switches grips until he’s cupping the underside of Tim’s crooked thighs, shifting him in his lap. “Timmy’s been doing his pilates. New Wayne Enterprises health program incentive, isn’t that right?” He pauses to snort. “No ulterior motives there.” 

“Fuck you,” Tim finds the irritation to retort, but only throws his head back when Jason folds him in half, tucking his knees up to his collarbone with a firm forearm wrapped around his thighs. It knocks his skull against Jason’s bare shoulder, neck open and beckoning in the light as Damian shifts in front of them. 

“Ask nicely,” Jason teases, and rolls his hips. Whatever scathing comeback he’d been mustering dies on Tim’s lips, the air halting in his throat as Jason’s cock drags over that spot deep inside him, toes curling in response. “ _That’s_ it.” 

And then he has Tim exactly where he wants him, folded in half and spread wide around his cock, toes twitching as he draws in short, overwhelmed little breaths. His free hand, the one that isn’t wound into the hair at the base of Jason’s neck, shifts to grip Jason’s restraining forearm with bruising strength. 

It _looks_ overwhelming. Damian’s seen Jason naked in enough wardrobe and medical mishaps to know he’s not on the small side, thicker than most if not boasting a particular length. It doesn’t escape Damian’s notice that Tim is decidedly smaller in stature, and bent in two like he is, it must be excruciatingly sensitive. 

He’s only proven right when Jason shifts his weight and lifts Tim an inch, driving up into him to punch a howl of surprise from Tim’s compressed lungs. 

“Fuck, fuck, _Jason,_ ” Tim babbles, knuckles white and eyes wide where they stare up at the ceiling. 

“Does that work for you, Timmy?” Jason asks, halfway to a tease, halfway to actual permission, and earns a choked whine for it. “Can’t leave Dames hanging though, can we?” 

Tim refocuses, those pale blues shifting to find Damian like he’s only just remembered he’s standing there, panting hard and trembling with need. Jason reaches his free arm - the one not pressing Tim’s knees into his shoulders - out to squeeze down onto the rise of Damian’s hipbone, tug him closer until his knees knock the couch between Jason’s spread calves. 

“Focus on me, baby bat,” Jason instructs him, tone low and molten like honey. Damian’s gaze snaps up, grateful for the focal point as Tim wriggles and whimpers at the lack of friction. Jason’s eyes don’t waver from his, snaring him. “Want you to take Timmy’s ankles and put them over your shoulder, Damian. Can you do that for me?” 

Damian nods dazedly, long fingers reaching out to wrap around Tim’s ankles, breath catching at how slim they are. The man’s pure muscle, lean and taut like a steel wire, but that doesn’t detract from how damn delicate he looks, manhandled between the pair of them. Tim doesn’t seem to mind the movement either, openly panting as he’s shifted on Jason’s cock, jaw going a little slack at the sensation. Damian’s cock twitches. 

“Perfect,” Jason purrs when Damian’s got him situated, shins pressed hard to the upholstery as he winds one arm around Tim’s captive legs to hold him in place. Tim blinks up at him, cheeks a rosy red, and it takes Jason squeezing down on his hip before Damian tunes in enough to hear, “ _Damian,_ come back to me, focus on me, kid.” 

“Yessir,” Damian slurs, blinking long and slow, and an odd expression crosses Jason’s face before he turns his attention back to the man sandwiched between them. 

“Okay, Timmers. You’re doing great, so damn perfect. Need you to do one last thing for me, yeah? Then I’ll give you exactly what you want.” 

Tim’s only response is a needy whine, head tossing to find Jason’s lips and stare. 

“Squeeze those thighs together nice and hard for me. Gonna get Damian to fuck them, so I need you tight for him, okay?” 

He can feel Tim trembling in his grip, his nod eager when Jason leans down to kiss him. Jason’s other hand tugs at Damian’s hip, pulls him closer into the embrace of Tim’s thighs, until his cock is nudging that overheated flesh. 

It draws a hiss from him, has Damian bending over to brace himself with an arm against the back of the couch so he has a better angle to slide into that warmth. It feels divine, every inch a pulsing heat around his overstimulated cock, and Damian stutters to a halt once his hips are flush to the backs of Tim’s thighs, breaths curtailing into sharp, needy pants. 

He feels Jason’s thumb massaging into his hipbone, coaxing him back as he blinks stars from the corners of his eyes and wills his trembling elbow not to fold beneath his weight. 

“You’re doing amazing, Damian. Timmy, can you tense up for me?” 

He doesn’t disappoint. Damian’s weak gasp is mirrored by Jason’s harsh grunt, a curse rattling off his lips when all of Tim squeezes tight around the pair of them. 

“Okay, yeah,” Jason gasps, like his lungs are being strangled, and shifts his grips down to circle Tim’s chest and hips. “Not gonna last with that. Fuck his thighs good and proper for me, yeah, Dames?” 

Damian doesn’t need the encouragement. He leverages back until only the tip of his cock is smothered between Tim’s gorgeous thighs, and then drives deep in one long, unbroken thrust that scours his lungs raw with the volume of his shout. 

“That’s it,” Jason praises, breathless, and Damian’s vaguely aware that Tim’s moving, being pulled down onto Jason’s thrusts as he lifts the smaller man. He’s boneless between them, eyes wide with awe as he hiccups soft little whimpers with every small movement. “Hold out as long as you can for us, Damian.” 

He can only manage a whine in response, the thought of holding back _now,_ when Tim’s thighs are sucking him down into such perfect heat, is unbearable. Damian feels fervent, feels unhinged as he rocks back and forth, chasing an increasingly unobtainable pace as he fucks between Tim’s thighs, the wet squelch driving him to delirium. 

Jason’s cursing too, smothering the sounds in the crook of Tim’s neck as he arches up to drive deep into the dazed man, thighs tensing and trembling deliciously with every motion Jason makes. 

Then Tim chokes and stills, and snaps into rigidity, a shout ripping up through his hoarse throat before it becomes a _scream_ that rattles down to Damian’s bones. He understands why when there’s suddenly a slickness joining the precum he’s smearing over Tim’s thighs, and the harshness of Tim’s vice around Damian’s cock has him rutting desperately. 

He’s hiccuping words, pleading deliriously, the syllables incoherent and bone-deep as Damian buries himself to the hilt and _comes._

It dredges the marrow out of Damian’s limbs, leaves him hollow and unsteady as his vision thunders black and white and black again, chasing consciousness as he wraps himself around the sensation of entropy. 

He’s distantly aware of his knees buckling, of sliding in a heap to the timber with a harsh crash and the vague acknowledgement of pain. Tim’s no longer screaming, his vocal chords given out beneath the weight of his release, but Damian hears when Jason swears and pulls him down deep, jerks into him as Tim’s heel knocks a bruise into Damian’s shoulder. 

After a moment, fingers find his sweat-streaked hair, slide deep and guide his head up. Damian blinks deliriously, lashes fluttering until his tears clear and he can make out Jason, checking him over. 

“‘M’kay,” he slurs, nothing responding like it should, and when he shifts his weight, his thighs give out too, dropping him to the floor on his ass. 

“Give me your safeword,” Jason demands, breathless, and Damian reaches for the coffee table to steady himself, everything rushing up hard and fast. 

“It’s… it’s Machiavelli,” he says dazedly, and hears Jason sigh in relief. Then Tim’s legs are being leveraged off his shoulder, pulled back into Jason's embrace as he shifts the man and lays him out on the couch. 

Jason pauses there to remove the condom and tie it off, discarded it quickly in favour of checking Tim over for any untoward bruising. He’s a downright mess, covered in both their spend, and he groans - more from petulance than pain, Damian gleans - when Jason shifts a cushion under his head. 

“Safeword,” he says down at the frowning man, and Tim grunts at him before Jason cups his face and pats it gently. Tim stirs, eyes flashing beneath the haze of fatigue. “Give me your safeword, and then you can pass out.” 

“Endor,” Tim groans, lashes fluttering shut, and that must satisfy Jason, because he heaves a breath and sits back on the couch. 

Unconsciousness looks immensely appealing, now that Damian’s focusing on the ache curling through his limbs, licking into his extremities and turning his blood to lead. He feels heavy, exhausted, rest beckoning as he slides back - a little less controlled than he’d like if he were completely conscious - to the floorboards. 

“Knock yourself out, kid,” Jason tells him, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’m gonna clean you both up and get you something for the headache when you wake up. Get some shuteye while you can.” 

Damian nods and slurs something, that darkness enticing where it creeps into the corners of his vision. The timber isn’t comfortable, but Damian’s muscles go lax at the contact immediately, a satisfied sigh easing from his chest when he settles. 

The wood is cool on his back, soothing his flushed skin, and he ruminates in the balm for a moment, mind flickering back to the baggie discarded on the table above him. Wonders if, under controlled dosage, it would alleviate the aches and pains of human-meta coitus. When he hears, a few moments later, Jason rise to his feet and pad towards the kitchen, Damian lifts a sluggish palm up to drag the evidence off. Tucks it into the palm of his hand and curls his fingers tight, reassured by the cling of the plastic. 

Damian feels the slow smile filter onto his lips, makes a mental note to mention the experience to Jon, and lets unconsciousness wrap itself around him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to check out the [accompanying art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357334) by the talented [MissNaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya)!
> 
> [ ](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah)


End file.
